


darling, you're on my mind

by WatanabeMaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Cigarettes, Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex, Emotional Constipation, Everyone is unhappy, Friends With Benefits, Laidback Sinning, M/M, Miya Osamu as the world's voice of reason, Morning After, Moving On, No Strings Attached, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, One Night Stands, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Sakusa Kiyoomi picks up a smoking habit, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, allow me to Explain Why, cigarettes after sex, i'm sorry i made atsumu come off as some sort of fuckboi, it's news, somewhat a Break-Up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatanabeMaya/pseuds/WatanabeMaya
Summary: There is no unloving Miya Atsumu. There is no such thing as forgetting. All Kiyoomi has is a crumpled up shinkansen ticket, a relic of a mistake he had never shown anyone but still stubbornly held onto as a semblance for moving on.
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Past Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi - Relationship, Past one-sided Miya Atsumu/Kita Shinsuke
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	darling, you're on my mind

**Author's Note:**

> i am warning you now this fic will have no resolution it is going to be very frustrating
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own haikyuu

Atsumu kisses him at the back of a two-star love hotel downtown in Osaka's central district, five minutes and half a block away from the Black Jackals' apartment building and their signature haunt of a run-down _izakaya_ , skin flush with desire and the aftermath of cheap whiskey.

"How about it?" Atsumu had asked him three hours into that night, foot against his leg as he nudged Kiyoomi's calf with the edge of his shoe. Kiyoomi downs his highball without further comment. Atsumu bats an eyelash and turns slyly towards him. His head is arched up, confident. Hopeful. "Want to give it a shot?"

Kiyoomi doesn't say anything. Just reaches for his wallet and tosses the bartender his payment for the bill, not bothering to stick around and wait for the change. He picks up his coat and walks out the door.

It doesn't take long for Atsumu to follow suit.

**:**

(Atsumu fucks him in the bedroom of a two-star love hotel downtown in Osaka's central district, five minutes and half a block away from the Black Jackals' apartment building and their signature haunt of a run-down _izakaya_ , skin flush with desire and the aftermath of cheap whiskey.)

**:**

"Don't touch the fish!" Osamu hollers when the team pays a visit to the Miya family abode for a post-tournament celebratory lunch. There is yelling from the other side of the kitchen. Kiyoomi watches the chef look mildly panicked as he ties his apron on. Then, more yelling, "If you so much as breathe on that _tai,_ 'Tsumu, I swear to God and on Aran-kun's good family name that I will punt your flat ass with a flying kick into the next dimension–"

Atsumu, who is bent over the sink washing his hands, is now humming the tune of some pseudo-indie J-pop single that was just released on today's broadcast of the early morning radio. Osamu finishes up doing a _mise en place_ for his share of _chirashi_ ingredients and rushes over to their side, generous in his display of verbose and colorful warnings. Atsumu pauses from his task to feign considering the consequences.

"Hmm...nope!" he decides after a good minute, voice firm with an air of finality.

Atsumu pumps out the _KireiKirei Medicated Foaming Hand Soap_ that Kiyoomi recognizes as the drug store's most popular brand and scrubs his fingers with the foam of citrus fruity bubbles.

"I know what I'm doing, baby brother," Atsumu tells him, tone light and sing-song as he dries his hands and walks over to the counter. "Besides, I'm not actually cooking this time," he winks in reassurance. "You can go work on the rice and I'll just help you cut this thing up."

"You know I don't trust you with a paring knife," Osamu remarks as he crosses his arms, resigning himself to now looking over his older twin's shoulder.

"You don't trust me with a lot of things, 'Samu," Atsumu shrugs and turns to the sea bream laid out on the chopping board, unperturbed. His tongue sticks out eagerly as he reaches for the handle. "What's new."

**:**

"I know you slept with my brother," Osamu tells him when Kiyoomi keeps him company as he goes out to throw the garbage. "Are you in love with him?"

"What the hell."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Osamu stares blankly at him and Kiyoomi regards the other man in silence. He wants to say _no_ , or _never_ or _it doesn't matter I was just drunk,_ because it's always convenient to throw away an excuse like that. It's tempting to tie himself down to a fantasy and force himself to keep on living a lie.

But then Kiyoomi thinks of how easy it would be to agree. How simple for him to lay bare all of his emotions, to tell the world, _Hey, listen, I have something to say,_ then the universe will hold its breath as Kiyoomi holds his heart out in his palms and offer it to Atsumu at long last — the unfurling of a confession.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the glisten of sweat that dripped down the base of Osamu's neck, the same way it looked on Atsumu that one night at nine pm in the middle of _Honmachi._ Or maybe it was the sight of Osamu's cool brown eyes, the flicker of them in the heat of their scrutiny, familiar in the way Atsumu's would also look whenever he'd glance at Kiyoomi underneath the gymnasium lights, whenever he'd sneak a look at him in the brief seconds between receiving drills, whenever he'd catch himself watching.

So Kiyoomi, despite himself, says _yes_.

"Will you tell him?" Osamu asks, not a shred of judgment in his tone. Only genuinely curious.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. "Fuck no."

"So broody," Osamu rolls his eyes. "No wonder my brother went out with you."

Kiyoomi snorts. He reaches for the box he'd tucked away in his back pocket, pulls down his mask and lights himself a stick.

"You should quit it with the cigarettes," Osamu scolds, brow wrinkling with distaste. Kiyoomi brings the cylinder up to his lips. "You're an athlete aren't you? Take better care of yourself."

"Shut up," Kiyoomi grumbles, "we're off season."

"That's not how the human body works and you know it, _Omi-kun,_ " Osamu quips as he snatches Kiyoomi's cancer stick and snubs it out on the sidewalk.

He pauses. Kiyoomi wonders if this will be one of the moments that he will bear witness to what Atsumu calls his younger brother's sadistic streak.

"S–"

Osamu cuts him off.

"It's cold out," he says instead, even if they're standing outside in the middle of a godforsaken Hyogo summer, dropping the subject as he picks himself up from his squat and pats away imaginary dirt from his pants. Of the twins, Osamu had always been much kinder between the two of them. "Come on," he says, and ushers Kiyoomi with a considerate hand only hovering a good inch above his shoulder, "let's go back inside."

**:**

The morning after they sleep together, Kiyoomi had woken up alone to fifteen voicemails from Hinata, three missed calls from Meian, panicked keysmashing in the group chat courtesy of Inunaki, Adriah, and Bokuto, and to top it all off – a single text from Komori.

 _Where are you,_ they all ask him, phrased in multiple variations of insurmountable concern. Kiyoomi replies to each sender with an elusive text of _I'm fine_ before he locks his screen and puts his phone on standby. Kiyoomi closes his eyes and allows himself another minute in the sheets, lets his body sink into the hard mattress of the hotel bed and dwell in the coldness of an otherwise empty room.

Atsumu had left him an hour ago.

Now, Kiyoomi would be naive to say he'd expected there to be any further contact between them. They aren't close. The night before should hardly mean anything. It is not surprising for Kiyoomi to wake up under the sticky heat of a morning after to find the room bare of his former bed partner, with no communication left between them. Atsumu leaves cleanly and with no remorse – a poster boy of his alma mater, a soul with a penchant for discarding memories. Other than the abandoned blister pack of aspirin and paid receipt for their roomstay, the setter had left no trace of himself behind.

Kiyoomi breathes out slowly through his nose, reminds himself to count backwards to zero from ten.

Theirs is a relationship that's paradoxical at best; an enigma of its own. He doesn't really know how to put a label on it – more than lovers but less than friends.

**:**

"So you're fuck buddies," Komori concludes, picking up a forkful of whipped cream and waffles before stuffing the contents heartily into his mouth. They're having breakfast together at their family villa for the holiday. Komori does not bother to compute the calorie count for their meal.

"It was a one night stand," Kiyoomi tells his cousin off, insistent. "I don't think that counts. Also, we are not 'buddies.'"

Komori nods in a placating fashion as he chews, swallowing politely before he speaks. He reflects once again on the key points of Kiyoomi's abridged narrative and purses his lips in deep thought.

"Nah, I think it still does," the libero says, hand hovering in front of his mouth to shield it from Kiyoomi's point of view. "The buddy part is irrelevant. My point is that you two had sex together, which is pretty surprising news actually," he remarks before he reaches for a napkin, "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

"Why are you surprised," Kiyoomi responds flatly as he preps his own serving of banana nutella waffles – coats each square with a thin layer of hazelnut spread and distributes each fruit slice to their respective location on his imaginary grid. "Did it never cross your mind that maybe I'm the type to sleep around? Maybe I just like the ease of a quick fuck and the conveniences of casual sex," he huffs into his food, irritated.

"I know about Ushijima-san," Komori says, absolutely ruthless.

"Zip it," Kiyoomi bites out. He resists the urge to flip his cousin off; reins his middle fingers in. "I'm over him now."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Komori agrees, clearly unimpressed. He turns his attention back to his plate half-full of waffles and forfeits an opportunity for further debate. Kiyoomi remembers telling his cousin of the details that Christmas after he'd just ended his year-long stint with 'that left-handed wing spiker from the Adlers,' how the other boy had so callously terminated their relationship in a heartbeat when he'd brought up the possibility of seeing other people.

He remembers vividly how Wakatoshi apologized for wasting the time they had spent together. Kiyoomi remembers his own vehement disagreement – how desperately he had begged the other boy to let him hold on. He remembers uttering vows over and over like a mantra, remembers his futile pleas of _Don't go, I can fix this_ and _I'll be better for you, I swear_ and _Please don't throw my heart out and treat it like something as simple as a mistake._

So they tried again.

Wakatoshi had agreed to his terms and they both gave each other their second chances. Their relationship progressed in the worst way possible: it remained stagnant. Wakatoshi's presence in his life turned dull and showed no promise. Going on dates with him began to feel like a chore. But Wakatoshi never changed. He was sincere in his efforts, diligent in his attempts to repair their strained dynamic, but while Wakatoshi easily settled into their new routine, it was Kiyoomi who had begun to feel different.

It was also consequently, and perhaps even inevitably, Kiyoomi who decided to once again break things off.

(A week after their second – and more amicable – break-up, Kiyoomi wonders how it is that he had so quickly fallen out of love with Wakatoshi. He realizes then that perhaps his feelings for the other had bordered closer to childish infatuation more than anything else, that Kiyoomi was the one at fault for the downfall of their entire relationship – for having unrealistically projected his ideals on Wakatoshi when all this time he had only ever been in love with the feeling of love itself.)

So, strictly speaking, Kiyoomi has never been in love with another person before. Sue him. It's been years now — get over it. He already did.

"So…" Komori prods, all coy and grinning, "Atsumu, huh?"

Kiyoomi squints his eyes with mild rage and scowls.

Because nowadays, Kiyoomi can't help but indulge himself in his memories. In his dreams, all he can see is a vivid portrait of that distant night in April – of Atsumu tangled in the sheets, close enough but aware of Kiyoomi's resistance to human touch, hands wandering down his back in small, careful strokes. He thinks of blond matted hair and strong, slender fingers, the low rumble of a voice murmuring sweet nothings as the setter asked where else it was okay for him to touch Kiyoomi next.

(This, he knows:

There is no unloving Miya Atsumu. There is no such thing as forgetting. All Kiyoomi has is a crumpled up _shinkansen_ ticket, a relic of a mistake he had never shown anyone but still stubbornly held onto as a semblance for moving on.

You cannot unlearn the way your heart skips a beat at the mere mention of an old lover's name.)

**:**

"Kita-san," Atsumu says one morning, when he waltzes into Kiyoomi's bedroom to reclaim his borrowed phone charger. Kiyoomi quirks up an eyebrow when the other boy seats himself at the edge of Kiyoomi's bed.

"Kita Shinsuke," Atsumu says. Kiyoomi blinks back at him owlishly and mouths a soundless _Who?_ "Our captain. I used to have a crush on him in high school."

"Ah," Kiyoomi mutters with the faint sting of bitter recognition. "I know."

"You _what_?"

"I know you did," Kiyoomi explains, and pushes himself up off the bed to reach for his lighter. He pulls out a cigarette and offers Atsumu the rest of the box. "You were terrible at hiding your feelings, Miya. Everyone could see it." Kiyoomi pauses to light his stick and takes in a drag. "I think he did too."

"Nu-uh!" Atsumu shouts, raising a finger in the air almost haughtily. "I'm good at keeping secrets. Practically a master at it. I made sure to be subtle as fuck so Kita-san could never catch on about my feelings," he continues on, persistent. "Plus," he insists, "if Kita- san already knew then he'd have told me that he did."

"I'm pretty sure he just didn't say anything so he could spare you."

"From what?"

"Rejection," Kiyoomi confirms, brutal. "That sort of thing hurts like a bitch."

Atsumu falls silent. Kiyoomi is certain this is how it all goes to hell.

He puts the cigarette to his mouth and takes in another lungful of ash. What an irony this all is – he, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Japan's most health-conscious and germophobic citizen to have ever walked the planet, poisoning his own body from a bad habit he picked up in his attempt to get over Miya Atsumu and their five-month-old-not-really-break-up.

He's pathetic, really.

"No way."

Atsumu mutters almost inaudibly, mouth moving at a speed of a mile a minute as though he were trapped in an internal debate with himself. "No way, no way, no way." Probably battling with his internal demons. Kiyoomi isn't sure, but he understands. He's been there before and the feeling isn't very nice.

"Omi-omi," Atsumu speaks up, and for a while Kiyoomi wonders if he had just broken him. He looks up at him with wide, warbly eyes, bottom lip quivering in a way that makes Kiyoomi want to either kiss him or punch him in the mouth with own lips, teeth smashing when they recklessly collide. There's hardly much of a difference in terms of net gain, but believe him when he says it's the principle of the thing.

All of a sudden, Atsumu reaches for his hand. Kiyoomi flinches at the other boy's touch and pulls away like he'd just been burned.

"Oh," Atsumu's eyes fall on Kiyoomi's limp wrist, the inevitable retreat. "Sorry," he mutters, as if suddenly regaining a hold of himself, "I forgot."

Kiyoomi sighs and waves the other's worries away. "It's fine."

Really, it isn't. But that's hardly the problem that deserves Kiyoomi's attention right now. Atsumu is still looking up at him like a kicked and wounded puppy, and his heart is on the verge of shattering at the sight. Atsumu ducks his head down low again. His voice is quiet when he asks, "Do you really think he knew?"

Sakusa Kiyoomi knows a lot about many things. Maybe even a little bit about everything. But he does not claim to be an infallible source that will tell you that he knows all. He will not sit you down in a Ted Talk and say _This is my story and I hope you can learn something from my life_ and then wait for the audience to reply with a practiced chorus of _Tell me all about it._ He does not do motivational speeches. He will never be one to volunteer himself to deliver an inspirational self-help spiel.

But the fact remains that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a very knowledgeable person, and he can tell you a lot about many things. Heartbreak is one of them. He knows enough about the topic to tell you that it is a vile and terrible creature that eats at you whole and can ruin a lifetime's worth of emotional progress in a mere matter of days.

He wouldn't wish this feeling onto anyone.

"Maybe," Kiyoomi answers back in all seriousness, amending his words at the lump of guilt that lodges itself at the pit of his stomach. Yes, Sakusa Kiyoomi does not claim to know everything, but even he knows better than to give Miya Atsumu the smallest sliver of a false and meager hope. "Look, I don't know," he settles, "I've never met the guy outside of tournaments and joint training camps so I'm only speaking in hypotheticals here. Maybe your captain is the type of person to be dense about these things. What I was giving you is most likely a baseless guess."

"Good point," Atsumu agrees, features washing over with warm relief. "Hey, Omi," Atsumu whispers, then reaches out to hold his hand. This time, Kiyoomi lets him. "Tell me, have you ever been in love?"

"No," Kiyoomi tells him, tongue heavy with the weight of his lie, because he'd never really learned how to make himself fall out of love with the man right in front of him, unable to shake the feeling off like an old habit. He allows himself another smoke. Lying comes to him so much easier than quitting on his fifth packet of cigarettes.

"Really?" Atsumu wonders, incredulous. "Not even with me? When we were sleeping together?"

"God, _Miya_ ," Kiyoomi pinches his expression in what he assumes looks like a pained grimace. "No."

"Huh," Atsumu responds, breathless. He hums lightly, deep in thought, and treats himself to Kiyoomi's pack of Seven Stars. Kiyoomi lights his cigarette for him and rewards himself with the faint ghost of Atsumu's smile.

**:**

What Kiyoomi doesn't tell Komori or Osamu or anyone else in his metaphorical Ted Talk audience is that on the day Atsumu had walked out on him after they had had sex, Kiyoomi had chased after him and booked himself a _shinkansen_ ticket en route to Hyogo.

Shin-Kobe station is a ten minute walk from the Miya family home. Kiyoomi speed-walked across the distance and cut it down to a humble seven. He disinfected the doorbell before pressing on the button, and Atsumu welcomed him inside without much fanfare and aplomb.

His parents weren't home, Atsumu had told him, hands in his hair as Kiyoomi pulled his mask down and tucked it under his chin. He'd let the setter pull him in closer. Atsumu locked their lips; Kiyoomi stuck his tongue in.

They carried on from where they left off last night.

An hour later, they lay beside each other in the cramped space of Atsumu's bed. Kiyoomi reflected dully on their current state of undress — sweat-slicked bodies spent from exhaustion, the used condom discarded haphazardly on the wooden floor, the blanket that pooled around Atsumu's thin waist. Atsumu reached for a cigarette once Kiyoomi had gotten up to leave, shimmying his hips in an attempt to roll over to the edge. He propped himself up on his left arm then opened his drawer to reveal his secret stash. Kiyoomi pressed his lips together wordlessly and watched the scene unfold in silence.

Atsumu ignited the lighter and held the flame close to the tip, sucking it lightly when he brought it up to his mouth. _What?_ he had muttered when he caught Kiyoomi watching, the words wisping into the air like smoke, trailing off and up into the ceiling. _It's cold out,_ he said, lips curling shyly on the edge of a smile. He tacked on in haste, _Don't tell Osamu._

 _I won't,_ Kiyoomi swore and helped himself to a clean shirt from the twins' wardrobe, unwilling to recycle his own clothes after they'd just fallen onto the ground. At the back of his mind, all he could think of was how badly he needed to shower. Kiyoomi picked up his things and sought permission to launder them in the washing machine. Atsumu nodded at the other's promise and drowned himself in indulgence, grateful for the free pass the spiker had granted him to yet another one of his guilty pleasures. He took in another drag.

 _Want one?_ Atsumu offered. The lighter was sitting innocently on his lap. Atsumu grabbed the box and plucked out a lonely cigarette, temptation rolling between his fingertips. He looked up at Kiyoomi with hooded eyes and dangled it lazily in his direction.

And Kiyoomi, beyond his better judgment, lit himself a stick and breathed it all in.

**Author's Note:**

> friendly government warning that cigarette smoking is dangerous to your health tldr it is NOT COOL pls dont do it kids
> 
> never thought i'd be writing for sakuatsu as the main but here we are. i wanted to work on something that touched on the motifs of their school banners (i.e., the whole drama of memento mori versus who needs memories) and i actually had a lot of fun with playing around the whole mess of this piece. many thanks once again to my friend E for being my pseudo-beta, to yna for enlightening me about the appeal of sakuatsu, and to you my dear reader for finishing this story all the way until the end. happy new year
> 
> ty for reading
> 
> hype with me about hq on [twitter](https://twitter.com/onigiri_maya)


End file.
